


Blood, Sweat and Venom

by RiskyWrites



Category: Captain America (Movies), Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Deer in the gaslights, Found the coffee, Gen, Hans... get ze birthday balloons, Horror Comedy, Hydra (Marvel), Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020, Obsession, Other, Pile is fine, SteVenom, Stucky - Freeform, THINGS WILL GET LOUD NOW, Tainted Love, Venom is a serum right?, WE ARE HUNGRY, WW2, Want a sandwich?, Where's the coffee?, make it fit, punch a nazi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29149335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiskyWrites/pseuds/RiskyWrites
Summary: During WW2, Bucky Barnes is captured by HYDRA, tested on, experimented on, slated to die. All seems lost, until he's rescued by the last person he'd ever expect - the runty little bundle of sunshine he left back in Brooklyn. Steve Rogers.Except something seems... off. It seems that in this universe, Steve didn't receive the Super Soldier Serum. Instead, he got something far more intense.Steve has a Symbiote. And Venom is hungry.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Venom Symbiote
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23
Collections: Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020





	1. Pawns of War

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art for "Blood, Sweat and Venom" by RiskyWrites](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29149092) by [Taste_is_Sweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet). 



> “James Buchanan Barnes. Sergeant. 3-2-5-5-7-0-3-8,” he repeated. Again. His voice wavered, but it was his. His mouth felt dry and there was a tacky film that made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. Every breath hurt, like he was exhaling sand, but at least the burning from whatever they’d put in his veins had died down. Or maybe he’d just gotten used to it. Maybe the pain had blended itself into the new normal.  _ His _ new normal. His. He had to stay him. He had to stay himself.

“James… Buchanan Barnes.” God his mouth was so dry. This wasn’t what he’d signed up for. “Sergeant.” The word caught in his throat, and he worked his jaw to try and coax the sides of his esophagus from each other. “3-2-5-5...heh…” The noise that came out of him could have been a laugh, but even he wasn’t certain. This wasn’t what he’d signed up for, no. And the precursory numbers on his own serial number reminded him of that. 3-2. Drafted. Not volunteered. Volun _ told _ . 

Start over. Try again. 

“James… James…” He’d kill for a drink. How long had he been tied to this table? He honestly couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, but he also couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt hungry. A lifetime had been spent on this table, though he had memories of a time before now. Or maybe they were dreams. Memories of dreams. Normally the dreams would sustain him, but not here. Not now. He couldn’t taint those thoughts with this place. He had to keep them safe. The last part of himself. The part that was  _ his _ . 

Again. Don’t let go, try again.

“James Buchanan Barnes.” Good. Keep going. “Sergeant. 3-2-5-5-7-0-3-8.” The experiments had been a blur, and that much was merciful. He hadn’t been able to keep food down, and the small doses of water he’d been offered were just enough to keep him lucid. Well. Semi-lucid. He had to stay strong. He had to be stronger than this. He had someone waiting for him at home. Someone with sweet blue eyes and straw-colored hair that would never lay flat. Someone with such a stubborn scowl that it made Bucky’s heart flutter even here. Even now. 

Parched lips stretched into a smile, and it wasn’t until he felt the tears filling his eyes that Bucky realized they were even open, staring unseeing into the dim room. He had someone to get home to. He hadn’t signed up for this, no. But he  _ was _ going home. “James Buchanan Barnes. Sergeant. 3-2-5-5-7-0-3-8.” Maybe he should try to rest. He had a few hours before the doctors came back. Before it was time for more tests, more injections, more horrors. “James Buchanan Barnes.” He should try to rest. He needed his strength. He should try to-

“Bucky?”

Huh. Well that was new. He’d shake his head if he had the strength, but he didn’t, so he simply laid on the table and summoned the will to start over. One more time. From the top.

“Bucky? Hey it is -  _ quiet  _ \- it’s Buck!” Bucky couldn’t ignore the voice; it was too familiar and his name was too easy on its tongue. He thought he should move his head, and his body was parsing the command when a shake came to his shoulder. 

“Buck!” came the call again, almost gleeful in a way that seemed vulgar in these grey walls. All at once there was something against his cheek, and he cringed despite himself. It didn’t draw away. “Oh no, baby. No, it’s okay Buck --  _ shut up, he’s not dead _ . He’s  _ mine _ , this one’s  _ mine _ .” The speed at which the voice shifted from honeyed into a snarl was frankly alarming, and Bucky fought to gather his wits a bit more quickly now, struggling against his bonds to confirm his suspicions.

The young man came into view, slender and lithe, with wild blond hair that stuck up in unruly angles. The blue eyes were as sweet as a spring day, if a little bloodshot, and Bucky immediately strained against his restraints. “Stevie…?” 

“Yeah baby,” Steve said. “Yeah. You wanna get outta here? This ain’t a good spot for you baby, let’s - oh my god,  _ shut up _ . Five minutes. Just five minutes is all I’m asking. I want to have a  _ moment _ ,” Steve snarled abruptly, eyes going unfocused. 

A lot of chemicals had been injected into James Buchanan Barnes. A lot of drugs and a lot of things that messed with his head. Clearly. This wasn’t possible. His eyes must be deceiving him. And his skin. And his ears. But this still wasn’t possible. He’d left his friend at home where it was safe. Where no one in their right might would bring him to this nightmarish hellhole and-

“Key?” Steve was asking.

“...What?”

“Baby, do you know where the key is?” This had to be a dream. Steve had never been so bold with his affections, never been the one to be open in public beyond their fraternal familiarity. Bucky supposed there were worse dreams to have. Though this one was staring at him in the dark, looking rather insistent on getting an answer.

“Key… to what?”

“To the bindings, there’s a sort of lock -- I know, but that’s what the key’s for. That’s how things work, it’s locked, you put a key in -- why is everything violence to you?”

Now Bucky’s heart was racing for a new reason. Something else was wrong. Something he didn’t have the capacity to comprehend right now. “...Stevie… Who are you talking to?”

Steve’s head snapped up as if he’d forgotten where he was. “Oh. Oh no one -- nothing. It’s nothing -” His voice dropped into a whisper and his eyes went sharp again. “Yes, you  _ are _ ‘nothing’. Unless you count a massive pain in my -- fine. Fine! Do it your way.” 

As abruptly as he’d spoken, his right hand lashed out, gripping the restraint on Bucky’s arm and ripping it clean from the table. He went for the second one as the metal clattered across the floor and banged noisily into the wall behind them. A nanosecond later, its partner joined it. Steve’s tone returned to almost perky. “I wanted to have a little more… finesse, but! The important thing is that you’re still alive.” His smile dropped in an instant and he sighed. “Yes ‘for now’, that was implied. Why are you ruining the moment, what do you have against moments?”

Bucky didn’t move, uncertain of his friend’s erratic demeanor and certain that he was somehow missing an entire half of the conversation. Steve watched him right back, smiling patiently, until yet again his eyes went sharp and unfocused. “Mm, that’s a good point. Buck?” Steve asked, suddenly addressing him directly. As opposed to… whatever was wrong with him. “We made a lot of noise just now,” Steve explained calmly and coolly. “Thanks to  _ someone _ being impatient and not bothering to find a key.” Steve bit back his irritation, drew a breath, and let it out slowly. 

“But that’s behind us now. That’s not a problem. Learn from our mistakes and --” Steve’s brow furrowed and he spoke louder and more determinedly, as if trying to talk over someone who was attempting to interrupt him. “ _ Learn from our mistakes and move forward.”  _ Another big sigh, another attempt to stay in control. “And right now, moving forward means we have to get you off of this table. Okay?”

This was not okay. This was decidedly not okay. Somehow Bucky felt less okay than he had five minutes ago, laying on the table and resigning himself to his fate. As Bucky struggled to sit up, he looked at Steve, trying to tell if he maybe had some clever device in his ear he could be talking through. He’d seen radios as small as a pack of cigarettes, so that didn’t seem too far of a stretch.

But he saw no radio. No wires. What he did see only made his stomach sink a little deeper. His Steve watched him with a tilted head, but as Bucky moved upright, he realized just how correct he was that Steve shouldn’t be here at all. The blond had always been slender, and who should get the lion’s share of the food had been an argument at every meal. Now, however, Steve was practically spindly and seemed covered in a layer of dust and grime. There were dark circles under his eyes and a tremor in his hands. Hands with broken and dirty nails.

Steve looked to be wearing some form of American military fatigues, but he’d lost his coat at some point and the standard issue undershirt seemed far too big on him. It was also stained with sweat and smears of rust. At least, he hoped it was rust. Bucky’s eyes continued down; part of Steve’s trousers were torn and he was missing both boots. One of his socks had gone AWOL as well. Bucky was getting dizzy and realized he was shaking his head.

“Steve. Steve, where are your clothes?”

Steve blinked at him, an awkward, amused smirk on his face. “I’m wearing them, Buck. You’re lookin’ right at ‘em.”

“Stevie,  _ where are your boots? _ ”

Steve blinked and looked down, as if realizing for the first time that he was barefoot. “Oh. Oh that’s a good question. Where are our boots?” he asked, and stared at nothing as he waited for his answer. Apparently it came quickly, because his eyes snapped back to Bucky again. “They got in the way,” Steve said, with the tone of someone repeating information. 

His own weaknesses forgotten for the time being, Bucky reached out to grasp Steve’s shoulders. Under the thin shirt, he was burning up. Bucky immediately pressed the back of his hand to Steve’s forehead. “Oh god, you’re on fire.”

“Thank you!” Steve replied cheerfully. This did nothing to assuage Bucky’s concern.

“Why are you  _ here? _ ”

Steve blinked at that question, tilting his head to one side as if trying to understand. “...Buck… I’m here because you’re here. And we really should be focusing on getting… ya know.  _ Not _ here. Before -- yeah exactly. ...Yeah I’m hungry too.”

Bucky didn’t realize his jaw had fallen slack until Steve had reached out with those burning fingertips and gently closed it for him again. “Stevie… What  _ happened _ to you?” he whispered.

At that, Steve just laughed. “Oh man. So much. Just so much -- yeah that too. Yeah -- yeah we’ll tell him --  _ you’re _ the one shoving us out the door. It can wait, right? ...Thank you. Finally.”

“Stevie… Baby… Who are you talking to?”

Steve turned to Bucky and canted his head to the other side now. “Oh… Let’s… Let’s get out of here. And I’ll --  _ we’ll _ \-- I’ll? Everything will be explained. I promise.”

Bucky didn’t realize he was moving until he’d grabbed Steve by the wrist. To his intense alarm, something quivered under his skin, something more than muscle and bone and tendon. “Steve,  _ tell me! _ ”

A sound came from Steve’s throat, inhuman and monstrous, but Steve shook his head and lunged forward, pressing his lips to Bucky’s. He was burning up with fever and he smelled of iron and sweat and something Bucky couldn’t quite place. But it was his Stevie.  _ His _ Stevie here in this awful hellhole, and Bucky looped his arms around him and drew him close, feeling the tack of sweat even through his shirt. 

“I promise, I’ll tell you everything --  _ we’ll _ tell you everything. But right now, we have to get you out of here. Okay?” Steve’s eyes searched Bucky’s and finally, reluctantly, Bucky nodded in agreement. 

The moment Bucky agreed though, he wondered if he would regret it. Steve’s eyes went hazy and he frowned, looking towards the door. “We gotta go. We have company coming. How many?” Steve huffed at whatever response he got. “...No, like a number. You’re useless.” He turned back to Bucky. “Come on. Can you walk? Lean on me, but we gotta get out of here, ‘more than one by a bunch’ are heading in our direction.”

Bucky got to his feet, realizing that he too was barefoot, but that concern felt oddly distant. He waited a moment to make sure he was steady, and then taking Steve’s hand for support, the two of them started to move out into the hall. 

Steve moved nearly silently, and though he was staggering only marginally less than Bucky, his gait felt more like a stalk than the stumble of an injured man. He paused, holding up a hand for Bucky to wait, then nodded at nothing and turned around leading him in the opposite direction. “Patrols,” he murmured. “I don’t think they heard anything.”

Bucky was about to respond, but Steve was talking again, seemingly to nothing. “Yeah, I know, I’m hungry too. Yeah, but let’s get him safe first. Protecting Bucky is our priority. Food as soon as we find it. Yes I promise.  _ Yes, _ I promise.”

“Stevie?” Bucky asked worriedly again.

Steve stopped and turned to face Bucky, smiling that placating smile that Bucky was starting to distrust. “Everything is fine. Just trust me. Try not to shoot me --  _ us _ \-- in the back and let’s get out of here. Okay?”

Bucky’s mouth was dry, and he worked his jaw a few times to dislodge his tongue from the roof of it. But before he could answer, an inhuman rumble of a voice shook his bones. 

“ _ We have company.” _

Steve started to turn, but the HYDRA trooper appeared around the corner and gasped, bringing his firearm to the ready. “ _ Halt!! Eindringling!! _ ” 

Before either of them could react, Bucky was blinded by the muzzle flash, deafened by the sheer volume of sudden noise. Steve seemed to vibrate, and that otherworldly voice let out a shriek. Then Bucky realized he’d felt something hot spray his face, and as he touched his cheek, he realized it was blood.

He realized it was a  _ lot _ of blood, and dark flowers were starting to bloom in multiple places on Steve’s thin shirt. Time froze. His Stevie was shot. There was nothing he could do; he could barely stand, let alone fight. As Steve slumped forward a step, the world started to go white around the edges, and his head suddenly felt thick and tight. Bucky wavered on his feet.

“Ah shit…” Bucky heard Steve say. There was a sickening realization that Bucky had just heard his lover, his brother, his best friend’s last words, when the metal grate of the catwalk came rushing up to meet him. 


	2. Unlikely Ally

“We gotta talk about your stacking ability.” The voice felt a thousand miles away, like he was hearing it from underwater.

“ _Pile is fine. We make pile, as Stee-vee requests._ ”

No, maybe it wasn’t water. “ _No,_ pile is _not_ fine. We need to stack them. Like…” Not water. More like glue. “Like… What’s the word I’m thinking of?”

“ _Like bodies._ ”

“No, like…” Everything hurt. His back hurt and he could feel the ground moving under him. Maybe they were moving his table again. Transporting him to a new room with new horrors to endure.

“ _Like corpses?_ ”

“No. Well, I mean yes. Obviously. But more like… Damn it, what’s the word?” But it wasn’t the table moving under him. It was the ground itself. Like he was being dragged along the floor.

“ _Like… matches?_ ”

Bucky could count on one hand the number of times he heard English being spoken since coming here, and though the second voice was strange and gravelly, there was no hint of a German accent. “Close. More like… This is going to bother me.”

“ _Like chocolate!_ ”

“ _Not_ like chocolate. Like…” A sharp sound, fingers snapping. “Cordwood. That’s the word. We need to stack them like cordwood.”

“ _Pile is fine._ ” God, his head was swimming. Bucky tried to shift, tried to push through the haze, but all that came out was a weak groan.

“No, pile is _not_ fine, I have a system, you’re messing up my system.”

“ _We do not need_ **_system_ ** _. We take enemies. Make bodies. Put in pile. That is system._ ”

“That is _not_ the system we agreed upon --”

“ _We did not agree._ ”

“ _You_ don’t get a say.” It was Steve. But that… wasn’t right. “You need to stack them. Not pile. Feet towards where we came from so we know where we were. Heads towards where we’re _headed_.” But Bucky’d seen Steve die. He’d seen him get shot, felt the hot blood.

“ _We eat the heads._ ” 

He’d heard his last words. 

“As a warning, yes. And then we _stack_ them, neatly. It’s a whole system, you’re messing up my system.”

Bucky had seen him _die_. 

“ _So many wasted snacks…_ ”

“There will be other snacks.”

“ _We are_ **_hungry_ **.”

Bucky reached up and his hand felt like lead. But the more he moved, the more easily movement came. 

“I know. I’m hungry too. But the message is more important than food.”

“ _Message means nothing.”_

“The message means _everything_.” There was something hard in Steve’s tone. Something primal and final. It allowed no argument and invited no conversation. They moved in silence. 

Bucky’s hand touched his cheek, finding something cool and tacky, and as he drew his hand back, he saw the dark red smear of drying blood. Slowly, his eyes came into focus and he looked up in the direction of the voices. 

The first thing Bucky realized was that his initial deduction had been correct. He _was_ moving, by way of being dragged along by the ankle. The second thing Bucky realized was that the voice _had_ belonged to Stevie, but if he’d thought something was wrong while he had been lashed to the table, then he would need to invent a stronger word to describe the way his gut turned over now. 

Steve had been shot. That much was clear by the peppering of singed holes along the back of his shirt and by the slowly drying blooms of blood that stained it. And yet, Steve was still moving. One hand was around Bucky’s ankle, but as Bucky looked, there was something grotesque about it. The fingers were too long, the arm extended too far, and there was a horrible black ichor that seemed to suck at Bucky’s skin and creep along Steve’s arm. It crept all the way up to his shoulder, enveloping part of his chest and half of his head, glistening like a pulsating black scab. 

Fear started as a knot in Bucky’s gut that began to expand outward, clawing its way up his throat and escaping his mouth not as a scream, but as a strangled yelp. Steve paused at the noise, turning to look at Bucky. On one half of the blond’s face was an expression of immeasurable joy. On the other half, that strange black scab shimmered in the dim light. Except it didn’t look like a scab at all. It looked more like a face. With a strange white mark for an oversized eye and a mouth that mimicked Steve’s smile. Almost mimicked. Where Steve’s smile was bright and enthusiastic, the scab’s was too wide, with far too many teeth. Vicious, sickle-like teeth that refused to sit together right. Teeth that looked hungry. 

“You’re awake!” Steve chirped, and Bucky’s mouth moved wordlessly, trying to urge his brain to react even though his body was frozen in fear.

“ _Pity._ ” It was the black scab that was talking, a creature unto itself. The grin with too many teeth moved independently of Steve’s, though he could see it working the young man’s jaw as if it were its own.

“I wasn’t going to let you have him anyhow, go sulk on your own time.”

“ _Stee-vee said, more than two, can eat one._ ” 

“Yeah, so?”

“ _Two enemy. One dead Buck-ee. We can eat._ ”

Steve was frowning. The scab was grinning. “Not how this works. Nice try though, I’ll give you credit for that.”

The creature growled softly in annoyance. Bucky was panting, each breath coming quick and short, hyperventilating on the ground with that black… _thing_ still around his ankle. _“Buck-ee is tainted. Spoiled meat.”_

“Don’t be rude just because you’re not getting your way,” Steve chided, completely unafraid of the creature attached to him like an eldritch nightmare. 

“ _We have exit to find,_ ” came the growled response. The ichor turned away, trying to move forward again, but Steve held fast, glaring stubbornly.

“We can spare a minute for introductions,” Steve said, planting himself like a tree. The ichor growled and tugged, but Steve didn’t budge.

“ _Do not need introduction._ ” 

“Yeah well, this story isn’t about you.” Steve’s glower faded, and he looked down at Bucky again, smiling as if nothing had happened. “I bet you have questions.”

Bucky swallowed thickly, watching the way the ichor tried to pull and tug at Steve, but Steve resisted every action, even though he was half consumed by the creature. “...so many…”

Steve let out an airy laugh, as if he were merely explaining a drastic new hair style and not a cannibalistic tumor that was pulling on his body like a restless dog on a leash. The eye that Bucky could see was bright and glittering and slightly unfocused. “Well… When you left, I knew that I had to be with you. I had to find a way to get back to you, right?” 

Bucky waited for him to continue, before realizing that Steve was expecting a response. He nodded slowly, dark brow knit in confusion. The tumor growled an inhuman sound and tugged again. Steve continued. “So I searched. And I searched and I searched and it was _there_ at the World Exposition of Tomorrow… I _found_ it.”

The Expo felt like eons ago, and Bucky found himself wracking his brain to try and remember that night. Steve had been sulking, nursing a blooming bruise from an earlier fight. He’d snuck off and -- “The recruitment office. Oh… Steve, no. What’d you sign up for?”

“Purpose,” Steve breathed, his eye wide and wild. The blackened hand released Bucky’s ankle, and despite the monster’s best efforts, Steve sank to the floor at his feet. Bucky scrambled to sit up, but Steve just grasped him by the front of his shirt and pulled him up. “Glorious _purpose_ , Bucky. I found the solution to… _everything_ . I found my way to find you, so we could be together. So that nothing could get in our way. Nothing could come between us and you --” Steve’s hand came up, the back of his trembling knuckles brushing adoringly over Bucky’s cheek. “And you could be _mine_ … Finally you could be mine… Just like we’d always dreamed.”

Bucky’s hands slowly rose, reaching to take Steve’s and clasp it tight. He’d seen him like this before, delirious and rambling. Raving about a future that didn’t exist, _could_ never exist. It had left Bucky trying to explain it away to both of their mothers and more than one doctor in the past. And now Steve was here, deep in the heart of enemy territory and deeply sick. “Okay Stevie. Okay. We need to get out of here though. And we have to find a way to get you well again.”

Steve blinked at that, jerking slightly as if struck. “Well? Buck I’m fine. I’m _fine_ ,” Steve said, straightening up. He reached a hand down to help Bucky to his feet. “Look, I’ll prove it.”

Bucky’s gut told him in no uncertain terms to not let Steve ‘prove’ anything. “No -- no I believe you, I believe you. We have to get moving though, right? This is a hell of a place to try and start our dream,” Bucky tried, offering what he hoped was more ‘charming smile’ and less ‘pained grimace’. Steve seemed satisfied.

“ _Buck-ee is right. We must go. More come,_ ” the monster tumor snarled, its half of the head still facing in the direction it wanted to go.

“Thank you, uh… Black… goo… creature,” Bucky attempted. The ichorous creature shivered, and soon that horrible white eye had reappeared, studying Bucky. It narrowed, the toothy mouth tightening in judgement, before it began to creep forward. 

Though the monster pulled away from Steve’s flesh, Steve followed with it placidly, content with any reason to be close to Bucky again. There was no ‘breath’ to speak of, but the creature’s scent was pungent. Like iron. Like decay. And like something sweet he couldn’t place. Bucky struggled not to grimace, afraid of offending the ichorous amalgamation, even as it moved uncomfortably close. He was all too aware of the size and quantity of those teeth.

“ _We are Venom_ ,” it growled thickly. 

“Oh right! Introductions!” Steve piped up again. “Venom, this is Bucky. Bucky, this is Venom. And I’m Steve, you both know me.”

“ _Wasting time,_ ” Venom growled.

“Be nice. Say ‘Hi, Bucky’,” Steve commanded. All at once Bucky’s mouth felt dry again, and he was hyper-aware of every shiver and every ferrous fluctuation of the creature before him. Every fang glistened, the corners of the mouth pulled too wide, and as the rows of teeth parted, Bucky could see a long, oozing tongue writhing like a snake under quivering skin. 

“ _Hi, Bucky…_ ” And then all at once, the elongated head retreated, back to its position on Steve’s left side. 

Bucky stood frozen, as if by not moving, not drawing any additional attention to himself, this would all somehow begin to make sense. Steve looked satisfied though, and he turned to continue the way he had been going, his bare feet padding lightly on the metal as he walked. Venom shifted to face forward with him as he turned.

“Wait -- wait, hang on, Steve,” Bucky said, his hand darting out to grasp Steve’s skinny arm. All at once there was a shimmer of black ooze and Venom snapped for Bucky’s face, forcing him back a step. 

Steve’s hand came up to gently bat at what approximated the creature’s head, correcting it as if it were a pet cat that had taken a swipe at someone instead of a roiling black fang-monster. Then he turned to look at Bucky. “We should be moving, what’s the matter?”

Bucky swallowed, trying to collect his thoughts. When he spoke, it came out as a fumbled babble of nonsense sounds. He cleared his throat to try again. “Steve… Stevie, you _died_ . I _saw_ you die.”

“Oh,” Steve said. His eyes went distant for a moment, staring at nothing, before he simply shrugged and smiled brightly. “Yeah, maybe. But I’m okay now. See?” Steve asked, reaching to pull up his shirt. The holes and the stains in the shirt remained, and even though his skin was still streaked with dried blood, his flesh was smooth and clean. “All better.”

And then Steve was walking again. It took a heartbeat for Bucky to realize he should be following. “Steve -- but _how??_ ”

“Oh. Venom fixed me. He’s real useful, he can fix all kinds of things.”

“ _Wasting_ **_time_ **.”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“Steve, what _happened_ to you? How did it come to this?” Bucky persisted. His hand came up to reach for Steve’s arm, but he abandoned it at the last moment, not willing to face those fangs again. Luckily, Steve stopped instead.

“Happened?” Again Steve turned, this time looking thoughtful. “Well… We don’t really have time to get into the details, but when I joined the Army, they picked me for a project. A project that only _I_ could survive.” His smile widened, but Venom’s grimace remained neutral. “Only me, Bucky. Can you believe it? I… _I_ was the strongest. I was the _only one_ who made it through. It was close, too. So close. I was lost in the pain and the rage and the heat and then -- and then...” Steve’s hands went limp at his sides, turning to focus on Bucky again. “I was… _found._ ”

Despite Vemon’s demonic stare, Bucky found himself locked on the strange crazed expression in Steve’s eyes. The feverish, nonsensical way he was rambling. It stirred a deep-rooted need to protect his friend, and not even the growling black mass of blight and fang could keep him back. One hand came up, and Bucky barely registered surprise as he saw Venom retreat to allow him to cup Steve’s burning cheek. Steve’s eyelids fluttered and he tilted his head into Bucky’s cool palm.

“Stevie…” Bucky whispered gently, drawing closer to him. The more he moved towards him, the more Venom moved further away, exposing more of his dearest friend. “What did they do to you?”

Steve’s eyes had closed, enjoying the comforting touch of the rough palm, but at the question they opened again, bright blue meeting ice. “Do? ...Bucky. I’ve changed. I’m… _evolved._ ” Steve’s smile slowly widened into a wild grin. “I am transformed. I am a _God_ . Greater than _he_ ever was,” Steve scoffed, looking away. “ _He_ was never a God.”

Seeing Venom’s eye move to Steve’s shoulder was unsettling, but not as much as the way Steve was spitting out those cryptic words. “‘He’ who, Stevie?”

“Greater even than…” Steve’s eyes went wide, turning fully to face Bucky, looking up at him. “...Greater even than _you_ , Bucky,” Steve breathed out the realization, his eyes wild, unfocused, and glittering. “I can protect you now…”

Bucky felt his chest clench with fear and he swallowed again. “Boy, you sure can, Stevie,” he forced out with an equally forced smile. “But you know what’s even better than you protectin’ me or me protectin’ you?”

Steve’s eyes went wide and doelike, bloodshot and set in a face that was too pale, even for him. “What’s that, Bucky?” His voice was breathy and so innocent. A lily in a bog.

“If we protect each other. Doesn’t that sound swell, Stevie?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, not blinking, not tearing his gaze from Bucky. Bucky held it, afraid that if he blinked first, he would somehow lose his friend to the fever and the terrors and the nightmare around them. “Yeah, that sounds real good.”

“ _More come,_ ” Venom warned in his rumbling snarl.

“But we gotta get you a weapon first,” Steve said brightly. And then all at once he turned away and began moving towards the sound of boots ahead of them. 

“ _Do not need ‘weapon_ ’. _We are weapon,_ ” Venom complained, but the pounding of feet was getting closer and Bucky could hear the back and forth of barked German. They’d been too loud, and neither of them seemed concerned about stealth.

“Yeah, yeah, you keep saying that but -- up please,” Steve requested, almost sweetly. All at once the ooze spread over his entire body, and there was an unholy shift in the air as he was consumed. Suddenly there was no Steve. There was only Venom, and as the three HYDRA guardsmen turned the corner, it rose to its full height.

Taller than Steve, taller even than Bucky, Venom was a mass of ferrous darkness, roiling as if it were made of liquid, like a beast of putrefied blood or a thousand tiny individual horrors working as one. It was lanky and slender at the waist, much like Steve, but with proportions grotesquely exaggerated. Arms were too long, fingers were curved blades that glistened in the dim light of the flickering incandescents, hands twisted like bestial claws. And the smile seemed to stretch far enough to split the skull. 

“You keep saying that, but he’s right.” Steve’s voice came from the creature even though its mouth didn’t do anything more than smile, his tone alarmingly casual even as the guards began to scream. “He wants to help, so we should let him.”

The first few paps of gunfire made Bucky cringe away, clutching his head and waiting for another spray of hot blood, but none came. Instead, Venom gave a deep, guttural sound akin to a chuckle and lunged forward, not for the first guard, but for the last one. Three voices screamed and the gunfire became more sustained. Not that it would do them any good.

It all happened so fast, but Bucky felt like he saw it in slow motion. The too-wide grin spread open into a too-wide maw, an unearthly snarl rattling his very soul as the creature snapped the last guard in half neatly at the waist. 

A fresh scream ripped through the air, battering Bucky’s eardrums and making every hair stand on end. A splash of crimson drenched the metal plating, a pale coil of forgotten intestine flopped over the torn ridge where a torso used to sit. The legs, still joined by the now-shattered pelvis, remained at attention. But as the beast lifted its head, blood bubbling down its jaws, the knees buckled and the hips fell forward in a blasphemous bow. The screaming took on a higher pitch, and as Bucky scrambled desperately onto the railing of the catwalk, he realized the screaming was his own.

He wasn’t alone. The two other guards were screaming as well, their voices almost harmonizing with his against the incessant _papapapapap_ of the two remaining machine guns. Venom turned on them then, the pale snake of a tongue licking off the remaining blood from his jaws and rolling over one eye like a lizard, before hanging hungrily from his mouth. Another lunge, and this time Bucky looked away from the sickening crunch.

Three voices became two. And then two became one. As his own screams quieted into panicked, panting whimpers, Bucky pressed both hands to his face and tried to blot out the horror he’d witnessed. While the screams and gunfire had ended, the snapping and crunching did not. 

After a time, Steve spoke up again. “As I was saying.” Steve’s voice wasn’t hindered or interrupted by the sound of human flesh being devoured. “He needs a gun.”

The sounds _did_ pause long enough for the reply. “ _We do not_ **_need_ ** _‘gun’_.”

Bucky was praying, his voice shaking, his palms pressed into his eyes, willing the horrors away. But that which had been seen could not be unseen. Bucky felt something warm and wet spread across his lap, but he was trembling too hard to notice or even care. 

“No, but he does. So cough it up,” Steve said with a weary sigh. There was the sound of a wet heave and then a clatter as a weapon skidded gently to rest against Bucky’s ankle. “Thank you. Was that so difficult?”

“ _Yes._ ”

Bucky had seen so many things since coming to Europe. So many things he hadn’t been prepared for. 

“You’re so dramatic,” Steve was chiding the monster. The muffled crunching sound resumed.

Bucky had seen death. So much death in so many ways. He’d seen his brother in blood get shot. One minute he had been smiling, telling a story about some dame back home, when suddenly his head had jerked, his eyes going funny and distant, his grin laxing into confusion, as if the bullet had been a punchline he didn’t quite understand. Bucky hadn’t understood it either, and when the blur of the firefight was over, he had wandered the camp looking for his friend, wanting to finish the story that the Axis had so rudely interrupted. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew, but like his friend, it was a punchline he couldn’t understand.

“You’ve had enough, come on. We have to stack them.”

Bucky had seen the monstrous tanks, weapons of death and chaos, bigger than any Panzer he’d yet encountered. Bigger than many of the buildings they rolled over, and when the blue plasma shot from the muzzle of their insidious barrels, they carved great scars into the landscape, vaporizing anything and any _one_ in their path. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the afterburn of the screaming skeletons behind his eyelids. 

“ _Pile is fine._ ”

But _this_ … This had been something in a class of its own. 

“Pile is _not_ fine, we have a system! Honestly, what do you have against the system?”

The crunching stopped, a small mercy, and Bucky listened to the sounds of bodies being moved. His ears still rang from the gunshots and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Bucky’s entire body was shaking, and he couldn’t bring himself to lower his palms from his eyes. 

“...What is that smell?” Steve asked softly, almost to himself.

“ _Corpses,”_ Venom answered helpfully. 

“No -- well, I mean yes. But also no. This is…” Steve looked around, then spotted the mess of his friend huddled against the railing of the catwalk. “Oh… Oh, Buck…” he whispered. Slowly, Steve moved closer, reaching to take Bucky’s hand. How long had he been wearing those same clothes? Strapped to a table, sweating through cloth now stained with blood and sweat and piss and God knows whatever else. Something in the back of Steve’s mind stirred, a memory from long ago. From when his brain didn’t feel like it was constantly on fire. _Fresh clothes make a fresh man._

“Poor Bucky…” Steve whispered, and he moved closer to the huddled man. Reaching out with one hand, Bucky winced as he was grasped, but Steve gently rubbed him. “Hey. Hey. I’m gonna make all this better.” Bucky looked around, staring long and hard at the neatly stacked pair of remaining bodies. Steve was a little proud of that one; they _were_ very neatly stacked. And then slowly Bucky’s eyes went back to Steve’s. 

“I’m gonna make this all better, you’ll see,” Steve reassured him. He couldn’t quite understand why Bucky looked so disbelieving, but that was okay. Steve would show him. Steve would prove it. He gently pushed the gun into Bucky’s lap. “Hold onto this and wait right here.”

“ _Wasting time,_ ” Venom repeated its mantra. 

“Five minutes won’t kill anything,” Steve said, and watched as Bucky carefully positioned his hands around the weapon. “Five minutes. We’ll be back.” 

With that, Steve backed towards the railing, feeling Venom’s tendril-like limbs brace on the bar as his feet came off the ground. They scaled effortlessly down until they came to one of the lower levels, spotting one of his previous human signposts. Feet where they had come from. Head where they were headed. Steve wondered briefly why the alarms hadn’t been set off yet. Maybe they had just been too thorough. Calmly, he started towards where he had seen a supply room. Neatly folded clothes had been piled on one of the racks he saw through the window. Though the door was locked, Venom made short work of it, throwing it aside with ease. 

Steve picked his way through the clothes, and though they were HYDRA uniforms, they were clean and warm and better than what Bucky had been wearing. Using Venom’s sharp claws, he did take the time to rip the insignias off. As an afterthought, he checked for any clothes that would fit himself, but none ran small enough, and the effort of altering them to stay on his skinny hips felt tedious. Besides, it was a bit warm for his taste here anyhow. 

After one more quick glance around, he determined that there was no food here. While his own hunger was still persistent, Venom’s had abated, and that itself was a relief. The clothes tucked under one arm, they went back the way they came, reaching up for the bottom of the platform. His hand extended inhumanly long with Venom’s help, and the climb back up was effortless. When they returned, Bucky was on his feet again, pale, but inspecting the weapon. Steve took that as a good sign. 

Steve gently pushed the bundle into his arms. “Let’s get changed. Once we find the documents, we can get out of here.”

Bucky nodded, but said nothing as he mechanically started to strip off his soiled clothes. Steve took them piece by piece as they were removed and tossed them casually over the rail into the depth below. “...Documents?” Bucky finally asked, as if needing something to break the silence.

Steve nodded. “That’s why we’re here. To get the documents. But once I found the others, and once I found that _you_ weren’t there… Well.” Steve grinned brightly. “I had _new_ purpose.” Silently, he waited for Venom to growl about the time being wasted. But the symbiote was silent. 

“I _found_ you,” Steve said calmly, watching Bucky button up his new trousers, then drop to a sit to pull on the boots. “I found you and now we just have to find the documents. And then we can go home.”

At that last comment, Bucky’s eyes slowly looked up to Steve’s, his hands pausing where they were, laces delicately looped around his fingers. “We can go home?”

Steve felt a surge of elation, nodding eagerly. “We can go _home_ , Bucky. You and me. We’ll be _free_ and no one can stop us. No one can tell us ‘no’. It’ll be you and me.”

“ _And us._ ”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. We’ll be _free_ , Bucky… Please? Can’t we go home and be free?” Steve was pleading, his hands clasped together, even though one was big and clawlike and covered in pulsating blackness that enveloped the other. Bucky looked at him. And then looked slightly to the right at something that was also him. And then back to him. 

Bucky drew a deep breath, then let it out as his shoulders fell. He rose to his feet, tucking the weapon to himself as he checked the magazine and the chamber one last time. “Okay, Stevie. Let’s go get these documents. So we can go home.”


	3. Sunday Brunch

“And the latest batch is showing so much promise! In the last 48 hours, the mortality rate has dropped from 86% with the theta-3.1.2 variant to only 79% in the theta-3.1.3!” Hans continued excitedly as he groped with one hand for the sandwich he’d been neglecting. Tearing off a chunk of bread and meat with his teeth, he chewed slowly to give Niklaus time to let the appropriate amount of awe spread across his face.

Niklaus yawned again and picked at the sleep still caught in the corner of his eye. “Uh huh,” he muttered.

Hans felt his lip twitch into a frown. The bread felt suddenly felt dry in his mouth, and he reached for his tea to hide his glower. _Well, Niklaus never really was a morning person_ , Hans soothed his wounded pride. _So he really should be forgiven for his lack of enthusiasm_. The tea had gone tepid and tannic, and it turned his dinner into a soggy lump on his tongue. Hans swallowed it down regardless. Still, Niklaus needed to be informed of what was to come on his shift. Time difference was not an excuse to be grumpy in the face of their glorious mission.

“So that should make your job far more pleasurable today, wouldn’t you say, Klaus?” Hans suspected that his attempt at being warm and friendly was coming across as borderline saccharine, but Niklaus glanced up at him nonetheless. Still, the usual warmth in his colleague’s gaze was missing, and the other man simply grunted his acknowledgement before idly arranging his pens.

“After all, that means there are less lab rats to clean up,” Hans trudged on, undeterred. “The first batch with the curdled blood? Oof, do you remember that?” Hans asked, forcibly jovial. Again, Klaus just grunted and stretched. “Or the ones who went feral and started tearing chunks from their own flesh? I know they are of a lesser race, but oof. That gave me nightmares.”

Klaus’ glance this time was downright frigid, and Hans felt a prickle of irritation. _No, no, Hans. Be nice. He is still readying himself for the morning. He has not been up all night like you have been. Staggered shifts are hard, you know that._ Hans drew a deep breath. “Test subject 17 should be --” Klaus interrupted with another loud yawn. “I’m sorry, Herr Niklaus, _am I boring you?_ ” Hans heard himself spit out irritably. 

Klaus heaved a sigh. “Hans. _Mein Freund._ It is barely 0500 hours. The sun is not even up. I have not had my coffee. I have just awoke from a _beautiful_ dream of Frau Schueler, and _being reminded of curdling blood_ _and feral Americans_ is not what I want to replace it with. So yes. I am a little… _tense._ ”

Hans considered that perhaps Klaus was right. He knew he should be more tactful, and that after all, Klaus was more than a comrade, he was a friend. Maybe he should ask Klaus more about his dream. Maybe he should fill him in on the strange sense of wrongness that had filled the night, only made worse by this conversation. Or offer to make a new pot of tea. Either way, he should probably smooth this over.

“Well at least _someone_ gets to see the sun,” Hans heard himself explode instead. “Some of us are trapped down in the bowels of this _gott verlassen_ mountain for all hours!” 

“ _Gott im himmel_ , I am too tired and too sober to deal with --” Klaud gestured to the whole of Hans. “ -- _whatever this is_ . I am getting a coffee,” Klaus snapped, rising to his feet so quickly that his chair toddled on its back legs before clattering back into position. “ _Would you like one?_ ” The question was somehow thoughtful and combative at once.

“ _That would be lovely_ ,” Hans snapped back, equally aggressive. “Cream and sugar, please. Thank you.”   
  
“You’re welcome!” Klaus barked, slamming the door behind him as he left their office. 

Hans watched his partner leave and fumed at the empty space he had vacated. Difficult mornings were not unusual, of course. Hans worked the overnight shift, and Klaus was the day shift. They had some overlap during the last few hours of Hans’ workday and the first few of Klaus’, and Klaus was without a doubt, _not_ a morning person. Still. There was something else in the air that Hans couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that just felt… _Wrong_. 

There was a nagging, prickling feeling at the back of his neck, like he was forgetting something. Or maybe more like eyes on him. Hans ran through his mental checklist. The human test animals chained to their gurneys wouldn’t need to be fed for another few hours, and by then they would be Klaus’ problem. He’d run all the checks, and although it had been a bit more quiet than usual, there were no alarms sounding. Hans moved to the console again to verify. Nope. No alarms.

Hans tried to consider anything that seemed out of place. Rolf hadn’t come by for his usual chat on his break, but perhaps he had been chided too many times by the _unteroffizier_ and was deciding to lay low. Still, something nagged at him. Maybe Klaus’ mood was more than just the usual morning discomfort. Maybe Hans was forgetting something? The idea made his chest burn with a sudden pulse of adrenaline. What if he had forgotten something important? Like Klaus’ birthday? No, no that was foolish. No one would be that upset over a simply oversight like that, right?

What if he had forgotten Herr Johann Schmidt’s birthday? The sandwich clattered back onto the plate as Hans rushed to his calendar, flipping frantically through the pages, completely unaware of the two pairs of eyes watching him from above.

“There they are,” Steve whispered. Though he inherently knew he didn’t need to speak at all to be heard by the symbiote. Still. Vocalizing allowed him a sense of normalcy that had been all but forgotten ever since he’d agreed to this endeavour. 

Venom, for what it was worth, was happy to play his role and pretend like he wasn’t privy to every thought in Steve’s head. “ _Where?_ ” he asked. 

“There. That stack of files, I think. Plus whatever is in the filing cabinets, and probably those reels if we can get them. You think we can?”

“ _Not an issue,”_ Venom rumbled in response. “ _The human?”_

Steve grunted softly, watching the HYDRA man move around. Though he tried to focus on the task at hand, his eyes kept drifting to the sandwich. Venom may have been satiated, but Steve still felt starving.

“ _Stee-vee,_ ” the symbiote growled.

“I’m thinking.”

“ _No. You are not.”_

“I’m thinking _now,_ okay? Jeez.” Steve squinted at the man, then scanned the room again with his eyes. “Too risky to drop down. That other one could be back any minute. We’ll have to bring him up here.”

“ _Will not fit._ ” Steve frowned at the response, but looked at the opening to the vent they were sitting at. Steve had always been small, and the ventilation system needed to maintain a base inside a literal mountain was extensive and robust. Unfortunately, HYDRA seemed to favor more robust soldiers as well. The vent opening that was small enough for Steve to shimmy in and out of was out of the question for the scientist below. 

“Sure he will,” Steve said with a shrug, thankfully remembering to keep his voice down. Something twitched and itched at the corner of Steve’s mind. Something he had heard long ago but wasn’t sure it belonged to this situation. Best not to worry over accuracy at the moment.

“Anything his head fits through, the rest will follow.”

There was a long pause before the response came. “ _We do not think that is correct._ ”

Steve blinked in surprise. “What? Sure it is. Collarbones fold. Just gotta get his head through and his collarbone will fold and bam, problem solved.”

This time the seconds seemed to stretch on before the reply. “... _Do not think that is correct. Stee-vee’s collarbone does not fold._ ”

Steve grunted. “Yeah, well, the list of things my body should do and doesn’t is longer than my arm. Longer than _your_ arm.”

“ _We do not think_ human _collarbones fold. Stee-vee is mistaken._ ”

Well, that was news. Steve snorted softly. “Okay, then what am I thinking of?”

The feeling of the symbiote shuffling through his memories was uncomfortable. Flashes of conversations, bits of random trivia, voices, images; dozens upon hundreds upon thousands all flickering behind his mind’s eye at once before Venom found what he was looking for.

“ _Cats._ ”

“Oh. I was way off,” Steve scoffed in amusement, watching the scientist as he left the calendar and began to return to his desk. “We need to bring him up here.”

“ _Will not fit,_ ” Venom reiterated.

“Then make him fit,” Steve growled softly. 

There was no hesitation from the symbiote as Steve felt the black, pulsating ooze pull away from his body. Like a snake, it slipped down through the grate and crept through the air towards the unwary scientist. Steve wrinkled his nose up as he stared at the insignia on the man’s uniform. A skull with tendrils curling away from it like the grasping arms of a kraken. Like thorny vines of some Lovecraftian horror, ready to twist and tear at new victims. Steve’s lip slowly curled up over his teeth. 

Steve watched as his own tentacles crept silently closer, slinking, pausing, slinking again, careful that his prey would not be alerted until it was too late. By the time Hans looked up, Steve had already won. 

The blackness shimmered as the tip of the coil hung suspended in the air, barely a foot away from the German’s face. It was pretty in its own way, so dark that the light seemed to slide off of it, coalescing into dappled pools along the pockets of its flesh. Hans was transfixed, and Steve could see the fascination and the primal desire to flee battling behind the man’s eyes.

“ _Was in aller Weld_ …?”

The head of the vine was almost like a pod, and though it must certainly have been against Hans’ better judgement, one hand came up to meet it. The blackness shivered in response, starting at the nose of the tendril and moving down its length, a prickly wave of living ferite. As Hans’s head slowly moved to track along origin of this length, the pod erupted violently into bloom. Thorny petals -- no, _fingers_ \-- split wide, and as Hans tried to take a step back, the monstrous hand lunged for him, lashing onto his face and devouring any cries of protest into its palm.

Steve watched in mild interest, blue eyes drifting to the door, then back to the sandwich abandoned on the table. The man was screaming, but it was muffled by the symbiote forcing its way into his mouth and nose, over his head, and spreading across his shoulders. If Steve focused, he would be able to feel every movement, every squirm, and every pulse of the racing heartbeat. It was unnerving at first, but now it was natural. Instead his focus lingered on the scientist’s now abandoned supper. 

An urge came to him to back up down the vent, and he recognized that it had not come from himself. Steve obeyed regardless. The moment he had cleared the vent entrance, the blackness recoiled towards him, reforming along Steve’s back and shoulders until it was stopped with a heavy _thump_ and a jar that resonated through the metal vent. The blockage lowered, and then tried again, slamming up with enough force to fray the metal inward, but still it wasn’t enough. 

“ _Will not fit,”_ Venom growled.

“You’re not trying hard enough then,” Steve snapped back. From the small gaps in the metal, he could still see the man struggling, clawing and scratching at the ooze in vain. The desperate screams were barely audible above Venom’s irritated snarls.

Again the man was slammed against the too-narrow entrance. Again. And again. Until finally, with a great heave from the symbiote, there was the crunch of bones giving way, a terrible squelching sound, and a splash of warm blood across Steve’s face. He reached up to wipe it out of his eyes as the prize was pulled fully into the duct, bent and broken, deep tears ribboning the bloodstained uniform and strips of flesh alike. Crimson drizzled out of what remained of the vent’s opening, past the shredded metal to drip onto the floor with an urgent _tak tak tak tak._

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Steve recognized that the whole point of this plan was to stay stealthy. Leave no sign behind. To slip in, pull the man into the grate to dispose of him quickly and quietly, and to vanish as eerily as they had arrived. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Steve also recognized that a dented and bloodied air vent and the growing puddle of blood on the floor of the office defeated this idea entirely. But he simply shrugged. In theory it had been foolproof. Reality’s refusal to meet his standards was Reality’s problem. Not his. 

The sickly blond made a vague gesture. “Go ahead and eat him, then,” Steve decided, and then covered a yawn with his fist as the symbiote eagerly did exactly that. When the crunching and soft snarling had subsided, Steve pulled himself forward to look down the grate. The papers were still there. As were the files. And all that was out of place was a little bit of blood. Some, he realized distastefully, had landed on his precious sandwich.

They needed to get down to the floor, but the ruined metal was a trap of blades. Steve wondered momentarily if Venom could just ooze them down and no sooner had the thought formed in his mind when he felt bare feet on solid ground. Steve registered mild surprise as he watched as Venom retreated from his body, having done exactly as he’d imagined. Steve shook his head. He could be impressed later, right now he had work to do.

Grabbing the sandwich from the plate, Steve padded heavily across the metal plates and opened the door. Peeking cautiously to make sure they were still alone, he whistled a single note between his teeth. From a hidden ledge nearby, Bucky’s dark-haired figure appeared. He too looked around cautiously, before carefully dropping onto the catwalk and hurrying to meet Steve and his symbiote. Once inside the lab, Steve carefully closed the door while Bucky surveyed the scene. Buck regarded the damage with only a slight frown of disgust. 

“That was real risky, Stevie. I almost got spotted twice,” Bucky said, turning towards his friend.

“Nah,” Steve dismissed, picking at the bread. Trembling fingers dug pits into the loaf at the spots where the blood had saturated, flicking them to the ground. He debated on tearing off a bit of soiled meat, but maybe he could just wipe it clean with the side of his hand. “You were Up. I’m tellin’ ya, Buck, no one _ever_ looks up.”

Bucky’s eyes were on Steve’s hands, brow knit with what appeared to be confusion. “Steve, where’d you get that?”  
  
Steve licked the remaining breadcrumbs off his thumb, regretting the action when he realized his skin tasted a little too much like iron. “What? Oh, the sandwich? I took it from a dead guy,” he said. “Are you hungry? Here I’ll split it.” Steve’s stomach growled at the idea, but if Buck was hungry, Steve would happily give up whatever meager bounty he had. 

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice was firm and almost parental. Steve recognized and hated it immediately. “You can’t go eating sandwiches you take off of dead guys.”

The laugh was high and manic. “What? No, no Buck it’s fine he wasn’t using it or anything.” Steve padded to the desk, aware of Bucky lingering over his shoulder. “Just gotta eat around the bloody bits. It’s fine, it’s fine. Help me gather these papers.”

Bucky frowned, but dutifully moved to shuffle through files. He squinted at the information and sighed. “It’s all in German,” He announced, instead starting to make a pile.

“Don’t you _sprechen deutsch_ , Herr Barnes?” Steve teased around a mouthful of food. He opened a drawer and rooted around, discarding writing utensils over his shoulder. While he worked, he struggled to chew on the sandwich held between his teeth without dropping it entirely.

“I mean, I do, but my head feels like it’s full of gunk. I can’t make heads or tails of anything.”

Steve’s frown deepened, his eyes going hard and determined. “...We’ll get you outta here, Buck. Promise.” Steve shook himself present and rolled his shoulders, glancing around. A nearby mug caught his attention, and he snatched it, drinking it down with a gulp and a shudder. 

“Steve, you can’t just drink things you find on a desk,” Buck grumbled as he continued collecting his stack.

“What do these people have against coffee?” Steve stuck his tongue out, smacking his lips against the bitter taste of over-brewed leaves. “Say, Buck. You remember the time you accidentally drank my paint water?”

Bucky scoffed and looked up from his task. “Which time? Remember when I told you all I wanted for Christmas was for you to stop leaving your damn paint water mugs around?”

Steve straightened up with a nostalgic smile. “Yeaaah. Sorry you didn’t get it, Buck. Must have been a real bad boy that year.” The flush that spread across Bucky’s cheeks only made Steve’s smile wider.

“Hardy-har,” Bucky said, though he seemed a little flustered. He brought the stack of papers over to add them to Steve’s pile. “You know, it’s going to be a real trick to get all of these out with just the two of us. And while dodging goons.”

Steve grinned at Bucky, and for a moment he didn’t look quite so manic and delirious. There was not just lucidity in his eyes, but a sharpness that hadn’t shone in quite some time. “Oh it’s a real swell trick, Buck. Watch this.” 

Taking a big stack of papers, he held them up in the air. The black sludge of the symbiote poured up the limb and over the bulk he was holding. “Abracadabra.” When the oily mass retreated, the files were gone. 

Buck nodded quietly, “Yeah, that’s some trick, Stevie.” Bucky moved to finish adding the papers, glancing around. “Where’d the uh… Venom… Even come from, anyhow?”

“Get those reels for me, will ya, Buck? And…” Steve paused to wrack his brain. Lately, everything had felt feverish and blistered, blurred around the edges like the street top in the middle of July. But right now... Right now a cloud had lifted from his eyes, and the heat seemed to recede just a little. Right now memories felt less slippery.

“...It was after the World Expo. After you were shipped out,” Steve began, feeding the last of the files to the ever-voracious demon. “I was trying to enlist again, as usual,” he said as an attempt at a joke. “But instead I was chosen for an experiment. Project Lazarus they called it.” Steve looked over, watching Bucky work the reels of data tape off of their spools. “It was supposed to be the Future. A way to give super human strength, they said. A way to instantly heal wounds, to turn the tides on death itself, they said.” 

Steve’s voice trailed off, frowning quietly at the empty mug for a long moment. “And a lot of men had died, they said… But they said that if we could make this work… If we could find someone able to harness the power they had found… It could end the war. It could save so many lives.” Steve’s blue eyes flicked towards Bucky, not quite landing on him. “The only life I could think of saving was yours…”

Steve smiled softly, drawing a deep, trembling breath. “They told me that only the strongest of heart and strongest of will could survive their little project.” Despite himself, Steve smiled, laughing gently. “Thought they were crazy to pick me, with my stellar health and all. Who wouldn’t look at me and think ‘boy, what a model of American fitness’. Obvious best candidate.”

“Steve… Why did you agree to that?” Bucky asked softly, gingerly holding out the reels for the symbiote to absorb. The sludge crawled over the metal, white eyemarks staring into his soul as a thousand wriggling polyps squirmed and sucked at his skin. And then with wriggling and sucking, it retracted again, taking the metal with it.

Steve considered the answer, slowly finishing the last of the scavenged sandwich. “I… had a lot of reasons. That night… I _knew_ it was the last time I’d ever see you again. That the next time I touched your skin, it would be at your wake. That without you… I had nothing. I _was_ nothing. So… when they told me it was dangerous, I didn’t care. If I died, I’d be with you that much sooner. If it worked? Well… Here we are.”

Blue eyes stared into nothingness, feeling the flames of fever licking at the edges of his mind. The food seemed to have quelled it slightly, but it would be back. It always came back. For a moment Steve wondered if this was worth it. The sickness. The pain. The unending, gnawing madness. Was it worth it?

The cool hand on his cheek made Steve flinch, but Venom’s silence signaled there was no danger. Glancing up, he hadn’t realized that Bucky had come so much closer and now for the first time he could really see just how much damage Bucky himself had endured. In the glare of the electric lights, Bucky was pale. There were dark circles under his eyes and the baby fat that had once softened his features had been burned away, replaced with hard angles of high cheekbones. On his hand, Steve could smell sweat and faint sickness, dirt and the biting cold that even here managed to permeate at times. There was a weary tremble in hand that cupped his cheek, and Steve stepped forward into Bucky’s arms, hiding his face against the rough cloth of the stolen HYDRA uniform. 

Fabric rustled as the strong arms moved around him, steady despite everything they’d been through. Steve found himself clinging to Bucky’s chest, and pressing himself to him, Steve tilted his face up to hide in the curve of Bucky’s jaw. He drew in a deep breath, feeling the roughness of stubble on his skin, the tack of drying sweat, the rhythm of Bucky’s pulse against the side of his nose. Oh how much he’d missed this. How much he’d forgotten he needed this. For a moment, Steve could forget the horrors of the last few months, the last few days, the last few minutes. For a moment, he could just breathe in the scent of his best friend, his lover and pretend that all was right in the world. For a moment, he could ignore the second self in his head, curiously examining these new sensations and emotions, ignore the knowledge that while it was being quiet now, Steve would be bombarded with questions later. For a moment, he just was. They had time.

Fingers were running through his damp hair, and Steve drew a deep, shivering breath. “What was it like?” Bucky’s voice rumbled in his chest and Steve smiled softly at the reverberations.

“There… was a chamber. It was tall and clear, with glass as thick as my arm. They locked me in there and it hissed behind me. The air felt strange. And then some men in lab coats brought out the canister, filled with strange, thick black liquid. It roiled and moved even when the canister was still, like it was trying to get out. And they plugged it into the side of my chamber, like one of those tubes from the Dr Frankenstein movie. You remember that movie, Buck?”

“I do,” Bucky rumbled again, his hand moving slowly down Steve’s back before coming up to his hair to stroke him again.

“Well it was like that. And then… And then everyone stepped back. And the canister opened and the liquid… hesitated. It hesitated, Buck… before it slid out into the chamber with me. It was all… grasping and squirming, like that pond scum we found with Becca a long time ago. The one that moved on its own. You remember that, Buck?”

“I do,” Came the soft reassurance. “Were you scared?”

“At first. They told me not to fight it, but I did anyhow. I stomped it real good, but it grabbed onto my bare foot and wrapped around my ankle.” The sound of Venom’s raspy chuckle at Steve’s memory didn’t startle either of the humans. “It was all over me, on my legs, up my waist, in my mouth and choking me and then suddenly… He was _everywhere_...” Steve shivered and pressed himself harder into Bucky. 

The arms held him close. “...What do you mean ‘everywhere’?”

“In my… head. In my thoughts. Trying to control me, take me over. But I refused. And I fought. And I wouldn’t bend and I wouldn’t give in.” Steve drew back enough to look up at Bucky, holding out one arm as the ichor pulsed and oozed from his pores, licking at the air like the tongues of a thousand snakes before collapsing to be reabsorbed into his flesh. Venom’s will pulsed in Steve, reminding him that they should still be moving. Steve’s own will pushed back stronger. They had time. 

“When I refused to break, that was when I saw him as his true form. That was when we saw each other face to face. And I understood…” Steve watched the symbiote bubbling along his arm and made a gentle soothing sound. Little by little, the ooze calmed, spreading into a layer of black slime across his skin.

“...Does it hurt?” Bucky coaxed.

“Oh yeah,” Steve said without hesitation. “So much. But you get used to it. You get used to the fire in your skull and the constant hunger and the -- the never being alone _ever_ not even in your own thoughts. In your own _dreams_. And you get used to everything being an argument and the fever and the endless squirming in your veins because -- because when everything is quiet... And everything is still. In those few, precious moments, that’s when it feels like love.”

Realizing how that sounded, Steve peered up at Bucky’s face. “Not -- not romantic love. Or fraternal love. Or I guess even platonic love…” Pale lips pressed into a frown.

“Stevie, there aren’t a whole lot of other kinds of ‘love’ left,” Bucky said calmly.

“No it’s… It’s like… The love of a wolf for the forest. Or the love of a deer for a cornfield. It’s safe… And it’s nourishing. It’s the most natural thing for the symbiote to love the host, for the deer to love the field. To _want_ to be there. The hide. To play. To _eat_...”

Steve looked up into those tired, ice-blue eyes. “Humans are very much like cornstalks. Beautiful and benign, meant to be loved and bent and stomped on and crushed until every edible morsel has been trampled out and only a dry, withered husk remains.” Steve’s eyes took on a manic glitter. “But I… _I_ would not bend. I would not break. Of all the cornstalks that came before me -- and there were _so many_ before me -- I was the one who will not be crushed. I will not break. Doomed as I may be, I will still _fight_.”

“Doomed?” Bucky asked above him. Steve paused a minute to gather his thoughts and consider his words. The urgent nudge came again, but there was no immediate danger. Steve held fast. They still had time.

“The thing that the cornstalks don’t understand is that to be loved by a deer is to be wholly devoured. And so too is that what it means to be loved by a symbiote. Because --” this time there was a growl of warning, coming only a moment before Steve heard the click of a latch falling back into position.

Steve’s head snapped up, drawing away from Bucky as blue eyes locked on brown. Brown eyes just now coming back into reality from a much needed break from focused thought, only to discover that in moment all of reality had been uncompromisingly, irrevocably, violently changed.

The German stood before the now-closed door, holding two tin mugs of coffee, frozen in place as he took in the scene. A small, bedraggled man covered in motor oil standing with a soldier he didn’t recognize. A steady sound like dripping water, but when he looked up, he saw the tattered metal of the damaged vent. The steady drip wasn’t water. It wasn’t water at all.

“Do not move,” two voices snarled at once, Steve’s a command, Venom’s a warning. As the German’s eyes flicked towards the emergency alarm button, the snarl became more feral. 

All at once, the German lunged, dropping the tin mug of coffee as his hand slammed onto the red metal actuator of the emergency alarm. The shimmering black fist slammed into his chest, shoving forward through the resistance and crushing through his ribs. All at once, three screams erupted, the sounds clattering off of eachother and off of the machinery around them. One was human. One was mechanical. And one was decidedly neither.

Steve clamped his hands over his ears, the shriek of the alarms sending visceral pain through the symbiote, amplified and shared through his own body. He cried out, pustules of black erupting over every inch of skin as if the noise itself had set Venom boiling, but with a snarl of his own, he forced the creature under control. “Get a hold of yourself!” Steve yelled, lowering his hands from his ears cautiously. The pain didn’t subside, but dulled to a more tolerable level.

“We have to go,” Bucky growled, checking his weapon and grabbing Steve by the arm to lead him out. All around the base, they could hear the mechanical scream spreading, soon to be answered by a buzzing swarm of soldiers. Escape now was their only option. They had run out of time.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> Written for Taste is Sweet for the Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020. Final chapter to be updated shortly! Find me on Twitter at @jaxkol


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